


Before She Was

by Shaw



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Banshee Moira O'Deorain, F/F, Gen, Junkenstein's Revenge, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Witch of the Wilds, Witch of the Wilds verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-08-02 09:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16302530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaw/pseuds/Shaw
Summary: All things in this world have a beginning; What was hers?





	1. For Whom Death Calls

There was a legend among her people of a voice that calls, nay, wails the name of those meant to die. That beckons them to the beyond, their final resting place, the eternal slumber. Angela had sworn she heard it in the dark of the night as she slaved over her patients in an attempt to stave off their doom. She had felt firsthand the cold tickle of Death’s fingers as they trailed across the nape of her neck, sworn that she had once heard the night whisper for her. 

 

She wondered, now, as she looked down upon the smoldering wood under her toes, if she would still hear it. If it truly was just a wives tale. Had her parents heard it when Death called them? When they died so tragically to the same sickness that had ravaged her own body so mercilessly in her youth? Angela could not figure. So she stared as the embers slowly sent their flames higher towards the soles of her bare feet. 

 

The village people looked onward at her, eager to see her burn. They had beaten her, destroyed her home, desecrated her work, cut her hair to her scalp. Now they meant to see for sure that she died like the witch she was. 

 

Angela wished it could have been any other way. 

 

She raised her blurry eyes, watery and irritated with heavy smoke, and looked out over the crowd. Faces of people she had once helped stared back with malicious glee. Not a shred of remorse for poor Angela Mercy Ziegler. 

 

The flames finally reached her as she was ready to succumb to the smoke inhalation and it prompted her to gasp. The heat had been bad enough; she wiggled her feet in their binds and clenched her toes tightly. Any effort to will the flames away failed as they snagged on the torn hem of her under-dress and started to creep up her pale legs. The gasp turned to screaming and Angela threw her head back in her agony, eyes trained to the heavens. 

 

She would give them no satisfaction to beg for her salvation. There was no damnation to shake off. She was innocent. The tears were now of pain rather than irritation and Angela coughed raggedly as she kept inhaling more smoke. She was dizzy and the world was beginning to spin but the pain was enough to keep her conscious. 

 

“Angela.” There it was. Briefly, the poor lass stopped her struggling and simply stared slackly towards the edge of the forest. The voice, once a distant memory in her dreams and nightmares. Death had come for her. 

 

“Angela…” Was it a trick of the eye? She was dying, after all. Angela stared the figure down as it came from the trees and simultaneously appeared to come from within the very smoke cloaking her burning body. 

 

The woman was deathly, like a corpse. Her hair was stark white like that of bleached bone and her eyes milky. Her form shimmered like it was shifting in the smoke, so close but feeling so far away as Angela struggled to focus. The woman smiled at Angela, lips thin and dry. Angela choked on the words she meant to say and felt her consciousness going as the flames continued to consume further up her body. 

 

“Not yet.” The words were in her ear yet they felt like they were spoken from meters away. Faintly, Angela heard screaming and thought perhaps it was her own. Or perhaps it was the screams of the damned as they were tortured. She fancied maybe she had been sent to damnation. An arm looped around her waist, something sharp piercing her wrist briefly. 

 

When Angela came back to reality she felt as if she were dreaming. She was floating, gently, in the embrace of someone. She blinked several times to clear the blur from her vision and gasped audibly when she saw who it was that was carrying her. 

 

Her hair moved unnaturally around her head as if she were submerged in water. Up close, Angela could see faintly that the milkiness of her eyes was obscuring pupils and irises. She fit rather easily in the woman’s arms as she was transported through the air. She was made of many sharp angles and Angela could definitely feel the woman’s ribs digging into her individually, and she seemed to not have any warmth to spare to perhaps warm Angela in the chill of the night air…

 

But she was as close to an angel as Angela knew. 

 

“You… saved me?...” Her voice was hoarse. She knew it was from the smoke. Was she alive? Or was this Death taking her to her eternal dream? To a place where nothing would hurt? Where sickness did not haunt her? The woman’s gaze was hard to discern but Angela could tell she was being looked at. 

 

“It was not your time.” Angela tightened her grip around the woman’s bony shoulders and shifted in her arms, her natural curiosity taking over as she tried to make sense of her situation. 

 

“I’m alive.” She finally stated. A soft noise of confirmed from the strange spectre of a woman made Angela’s head spin. How was this possible? Angela finally peered further down and looked at her legs and feet. They were horribly blackened, burnt from her ordeal. For some reason they did not hurt. 

 

“Are you Death?” The question was so softly said it was barely audible above the whistle of the wind. They were descending. Angela wondered if they were going to Hell. The woman merely laughed, throaty and thick. 

 

“Why would I be Death if you are alive? What use would I have of you? Silly girl.” Angela found herself feeling the slightest bit indignant at being called a ‘silly girl’ but swallowed it for the time being as she observed how high in the air they were. 

 

“If you’re not Death, then what are you?” 

 

“Something more.. Willful.” It sounded like a quip but Angela didn’t find herself capable of laughing in the moment. Especially when she didn’t know what she was supposed to be laughing about. 

 

They eventually landed. Angela was not put down. The woman instead continued to carry her along until they came to a large pool of water in which the stars and moon did not reflect. Angela found it very foreboding and figured now would be a good time to ask another question. 

 

“What is your name?” A long pause followed before the woman finally answered. 

 

“Some would call me Moira.”

 

Instinctively she answered back, “My name is Angela.”

 

Moira laughed once more, that soft laugh of hers that came from her chest.

 

“I know.” Oh, right. Angela shifted in Moira’s arms again and stared at her disfigured feet in silence. Moira finally set her down now, placing her upon a large rock that breached the surface of the strange pond near its bank. It was now that Angela noted Moira positively towered over her. She was perhaps taller than many of the men Angela had lived with in her village. She swallowed tightly, bashful as Moira stared down at her. 

 

“You are a very interesting little woman, Angela.” Moira began. Under her gaze, Angela couldn’t quite find her tongue. She was not sure if Moira was truly here to help her or not. Surely she must be? She saved her life. People did not do such things lightly. Although Moira did not seem much like a person…

 

“I am not all that interesting. Not really.” The croaking could barely pass as speech. Angela felt ashamed to speak when her voice sounded so terrible. Everything about her in the moment was simply a reminder that she should be dead. Why was she not dead? Even with Moira interference, she shouldn’t be alive now. 

“Oh, but, you are. The others could not see it, not truly, but I can.” If it was possible for such dead eyes to glitter, Moira’s could certainly be said to do so. Angela kept eye contact with her through her eyelashes, chin tipped down meekly. 

 

“See what?” 

 

“You’re special, Angela. Such talent should not be left to waste.” Moira took a knee at this point. A spindly, spider-like hand ghosted across Angela’s cheek in some kind of caress. She could not help but flinch away slightly at the chill of dead flesh touching her living skin. 

 

“I just… want to help people.” Moira’s face seemed to soften if possible. Angela found she liked such expression more than the excited one the woman had worn just prior. 

 

“Such a noble cause,” Moira said. “Should surely see fruition.” 

 

Angela was confused. She felt that Moira was getting at something but couldn’t guess what. She looked about herself now at their surroundings once more. The brightness of the sky shone down upon them in their hollow, the shadows of the trees crowded beneath them and allowing the two women their circle of light. The pool stayed black as ink, not even a ripple to betray movement of the water within. 

 

“Thank you. For saving me.” Angela finally conceded that she had nothing left to say but her thanks. She didn’t know what she would do now, but she surely wouldn’t waste what was already her third chance at continuing her life. Moira’s lips slowly curled up in a smile. 

 

“In exchange for my saving your life, you will stay with me. Continue your work.” Her heart skipped a beat. Stay… here? Here exactly? In this place? Where it felt like night was eternal and the sun would never touch her skin again? Angela shivered. Moira wrapped a hand around her wrist. 

 

“It is the least you can give me.” 

 

“What if I… don’t want to?”

 

“You have no other choice, Angela. Where will you go? Your home is destroyed, your family has been dead for years. What other option is there?” Moira’s voice was not harsh nor cruel, but rather clinically detached instead. She was stating facts. It hurt. Angela swallowed back her pain and took a shaken breath.

 

“... Okay.” There really was no way about it. Angela owed Moira. Of course she did. Angela would have considered it a personal obligation with or without Moira holding her to it. It was only such a strange thing to ask. What did a ghoul have use of a healer? Moira held out one hand and raised one of her clawed fingers to it. Angela watched in slightly mystification as she slowly drove her nail through her own flesh and cut her palm. Strange inchor slowly seeped forth, as black as the waters of the pool they sat besides. 

 

“You will find you gain much benefit from this deal I am putting forth, Angela.” Moira took Angela’s hand in her own now, making quick work of slicing open her palm in turn. She couldn’t restrain the cry of pain that escaped her. Angela withdrew her hand to chest to shield it from further harm. Moira watched her do so patiently before extending her own bleeding palm forward. Angela shivered and stared at it. 

 

“What do you mean, deal?” 

 

“It’s not very nice to waste time, Angela.” Moira stated coolly. Steeling herself, Angela put her bleeding palm to Moira’s own before she could change her mind about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look at me. I know I still have another fanfic to write for but this entire fic came to me in the middle of the night and now I just... gotta write it. And it's the perfect season for it! Keep in mind this is just my interpretation of The Witch of the Wilds and the verse that surrounds her in the Tale of Junkenstein. Anyways, feel free to yell at me about the fact I need to work on Sugarcoated 8')


	2. Strange Companionship

The contents of the cauldron bubbled steadily, the flame beneath the cast iron bright in the dark shadows of the grove. Angela stirred the liquid inside as she peered into it. The air was hot with the flames and she could feel a trick of sweat sliding down the nape of her neck. After a moment, she lifted her spoon from the slew and raised it to her mouth. She cautiously poked her tongue to it and smacked the flavor against her lips thoughtfully. 

“Soup is done.” She called out, banging the wooden spoon against the side of the cauldron loudly. The shadows of the clearing morphed slowly and from them came Moira. She glided over, feet barely an inch off the ground, and swooped around to float behind Angela, looking over the top of her head at the broth inside the cauldron. 

 

“You know I cannot eat.” She reminded. Angela shrugged and moved to go get her bowl. It was the only bowl she owned at the moment but she had said someday she would have many and they would all be made of smooth stone. Moira had simply laughed. Spooning food into the bowl, Angela took a seat on a patch of springy moss she’d gathered earlier that day and crossed her legs. Moira followed her silently before slowly lowering herself into a seated position as well. She watched Angela slurp her soup. 

 

“You’re very peculiar.” Angela didn’t even look up. Peculiar was Moira’s favorite thing to call her, but Angela knew that what she really was. Lonely. If she was to live out in these woods as a hermit with a spirit she would like said spirit to actually keep her some company once in a while. 

 

“What kind of soup did you make?” Moira finally asked. She sometimes was curious of the food Angela ate although she never fully admitted it. Angela regarded her soup before answering. 

 

“Onion and stone. It’s very flavorless.” 

 

“Stone soup… It’s been a very long time since I have heard that.” Moira mused. Angela’s gaze lifted as she stared at Moira curiously. She sometimes wondered if perhaps Moira was once human as well. Truthfully she was still not entirely sure what exactly Moira was; she was infinitely more curious about what Moira might have been before. 

 

“Was it any better back then?” Angela inquired. 

 

“No, I don’t think so. I believe it was likely still very flavorless.” Angela sighed at this answer and tipped her bowl back, chugging the broth down and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Moira was still watching her patiently perhaps waiting to be dismissed. Angela did not do so though. Instead she went back to the cauldron and spooned out another bowl of soup. She walked back to Moira, gait trembling as she breathed through the pain that radiated from her feet. Setting down the bowl before her, Angela took a heavy seat. 

 

“What is this for?” The question sounded slightly bemused, as if Moira found Angela’s actions laughable. Angela smoothed her hands over the burnt skirt of her under-dress and took a deep breath. 

 

“For you. I know you don’t eat, but… You can do whatever you want with it.” Moira was silent. Staring at Angela carefully. Slowly she wrapped her hands around the bowl and sniffed it carefully. 

 

“An offering?” 

 

“I suppose so?” Angela answered. 

 

“How kind.” Moira purred. Angela watched as Moira stood and slowly made her way to the pool. She tipped the bowl’s contents over into the water and it was seemingly swallowed by the inky depths. Not even a small bit of onion was left to float on the surface. Angela had been there for what felt like months and still the pool was a mystery. She saw once Moira walk into it until the dark waters overtook her to the top of her head and she was fully submerged. Angela hadn’t been brave enough to plunge her hands forth to see if she could still find the woman. She feared what she may encounter within it. 

 

Moira came back and took a seat by Angela once more, seeming pleased with the young woman’s ‘offering’. Angela watched her absently as they sat in the quiet. A cricket was singing somewhere in the dark and a nightbird sang it’s song in harmony. Moira’s gaze quite suddenly jerked to Angela’s and she smiled slowly. 

 

Angela found herself smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tap dancing along to the entire soundtrack of Nightmare Before Christmas at max volume as it's plugged directly into my brain. For those who didn't know, Halloween is my favorite holiday and I'm LIVING. But also why the Hell did it go from being nearly 100 degrees outside to being 45 in one day?? Jesus.


	3. In Application

The edge of the cliff overlooked a great lake. If Angela peered through the darkness she could see the shape of a castle over the opposite side. If only the moon were full she might be able to see it better. She had heard a very powerful family lived within. The crumble of earth beneath Angela’s toes snapped her attention back to her own reality as she peered down into the oblivion that awaited her should she fall. 

 

She would not fall. She told herself this with as much confidence as she could muster. She would not fall, for she would fly. She concocted the flying ointment herself, applied it properly, and it would work this time. It would work. 

 

For her own sake, she hoped it would work.

 

Taking a deep breath, Angela put one foot out and swayed it to and fro in the open air. She focused intently on the feeling of the wind moving around her and could feel the places she’d put her ointment tingle. It would work, it would work, it would work… She took her step forward. 

 

For a long moment, Angela Ziegler stood in the open air. She opened her eyes and she peered around herself and she breathed as calmly as she could muster herself to. Then she started to fall. It was slow, her descent, but the sheer surprise of her vertical movement caused her concentration to break and thus she began to plummet. A scream ripped its way out of her, leaving her breathless as she tumbled through the air helplessly. When she stopped falling, she thought for sure her failure had resulted in her death at last. 

 

“What is it that you think you’re doing?” Not so lucky. Angela slowly removed her hands from her face, not even realizing she had cowered so meekly from her failure. Moira had caught her with plenty of time to spare, apparently alerted from her first scream. They continued to float down at an appropriate speed until Moira’s bare feet rested upon the surface of the lake. Angela held her tongue. 

 

“I would swear you were trying to kill yourself. Am I such terrible company, Angela?” 

 

“No! No... “ Moira merely smiled at Angela’s snappy answer, starting to let the woman slip from her grasp. Angela held tightly to Moira’s arms as she let herself be put down, testing the water. Her foot stopped short in the air just above the water, as if a plane of glass were there. “I just… Wanted to try it on my own.” 

 

“You did rather well at first, might I say. Trial and error are important in the process of discovery. I do advise you try less for error as you work. It would be very dismal if you were to die during your pursuits just because I happened to be admiring a bog rather than keeping my eye on you at all times.” Moira’s tone was light, teasing. It made Angela’s face flush despite the morbid topic. She knew Moira would not let her die. Not even if Angela so desperately wanted it would Moira let her die. Not now. Not when there was a debt to be repaid. Still, the idea that Moira cared for her was warming. 

 

Moira took a step up. Angela followed. Another. Another. Eventually the two women were higher in the air, waltzing above the lapping water of the lake. Angela kept her gaze averted downwards as they rose higher, led by Moira’s guidance as they advanced steadily. 

 

“It is not your own fault.” Moira’s words snapped Angela’s attention back to her. Her blue eyes found Moira’s own milky gaze regarding her with some degree of fondness.

 

“What?”

 

“Humans are not inherently magical creatures. They are capable of it, you see, but it does not come… naturally.” Moira twirled Angela around playfully and led her higher still. The half-moon broke from behind the sparse cloud cover, haloing light off of Moira’s pale hair and Angela’s own in turn became like silver. 

 

“How long will it take? For me to learn, that is.” 

 

“Perhaps your whole life. Maybe longer.” Angela shivered at the off-handed comment of ‘longer’. Could Moira keep her past death? Would she be denied her time, when it came, had she not completed her payment? Her duty? 

 

“Have you worked with many witches?” Moira hummed in response, clearly thinking about the question. Angela tightened her grip on her forearm and looked down. They had risen past the cliffs. The lake was a mirror beneath them. 

 

“They’re not quite as common as you might believe. Do you take yourself for a witch, Angela?” 

 

“I think I am now. I wasn’t before but all things considered I would take myself as one. I am flying in the arms of a devil in the moonlight night, am I not?” Moira laughed aloud at this, pulling Angela slightly closer as they quite suddenly rose hastily. The night air this high up was incredibly chilly and goose-flesh rose along Angela’s arms and legs. 

 

“A devil, I am? Know that a true witch can fly unassisted, Angela.” 

 

She did not have time to open her mouth to respond, for Moira’s embrace left her suddenly and she felt her heart seem to stop. There was a moment of sublime terror and rue in which Angela was forced for the second time that day to consider how much it might hurt for her to die when she eventually hit the water below. Yet, she did not fall. 

 

She stood there, stiff and prone in the air with her hands thrown over her face. A ragged breath entered her at last when she realized she was not breathing. Peeking between her fingers, Angela spied Moira watching her proudly several feet away. She beckoned her to walk her way. Angela shook her head adamantly. Moira beckoned a little harder, a grin on her face. Angela took a deep breath. 

And took a step. 

And another, and another. 

 

Shakily, pitching up and down randomly, Angela made her way to Moira as if she were a baby deer using its legs for the first time. Finally, she made it and collapsed into the woman’s arms in exhaustion, feet immediately losing their purchase in the air as she became a dead weight in Moira’s arms. 

 

“Grand! Perhaps you are a witch after all.” 

 

“Down.” Angela stated simply. She felt as if she had just exerted every last bit of energy in her body. Maybe she had. At least she had not fallen although surely Moira would have caught her. 

 

“As you wish.” Moira mused. So through the night they descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I continue to stare pointedly past my McGenji fanfiction in favor of writing two of my favorite Overwatch lesbians. I'm not quite sure if they're actually going to be a THING in this but do know that by the end they'll hold very much adoration for one another even when their paths split apart.


	4. Moments with You

Years never seemed so obsolete. The passage of time so trite. Angela was no longer sure how old she was. No doubt her body had changed; it had stopped doing so at some point and she was no longer sure when that point was. She suspected Moira but the spectre either was very good at feigning innocence or genuinely was not behind the uncanny lack of aging. 

 

Angela decided it didn’t really bother her that much. It merely meant more time to spend studying, to be spent with…

 

Moira was currently seated on the ground, hair floating idly about her as she studied a tome she’d picked from one of the shelves lining the wall. Chateau Guillard had been abandoned now for some time. Or, as abandoned as a place haunted by an undead girl could be. Angela had seen her at times, the glint of her eyes in the night reflecting candle light as no mortal’s eyes could. 

 

“What is that one about?” Moira’s head did not rise but Angela knew Moira was looking at her. Up, through her snow white eyelashes. She twirled a strand of her own hair around her finger absently and smiled. It had grown out so nicely. One of the few signs she still had of the passage of time existing. 

 

“Creation of Homunculi. I believe you would find this very fascinating.” Moira smiled back softly in a manner that made Angela’s heart flutter in her chest. She genuinely wasn’t sure if she had any real interest in creating homunculi but it did sound interesting. 

 

“You’ll have to read it to me sometime.” 

 

“Angela, you are capable of reading on your own now. I would know, as I taught you.” Coyly, Angela cocked her head and continued to twirl a strand of hair around her finger. Moira had indeed taught her how to read Pictish and the language of the Francs. Angela still transcribed most of her own things in her own native language but had also grown fond of using Latin. It was a very fun little language! 

 

“But won’t you still read to me? I love to listen to your voice.” Moira didn’t respond verbally but rather shook her head with a warm smile. The sound of a page turning was so loud in the silence of the castle. The shadows whispered back in turn. 

 

“Perhaps if you are good and continue your studies rather than staring at me…” Moira’s tone was musing, playful. Angela would admit she was guilty of having long discarded her studies to watch Moira read. She always looked so serene. Seated in the milky mix of moonlight and candle cast, carefully leafing through books in search of knowledge not yet granted to her. Angela was hard pressed to not join her on the floor and run a hand over the plane of her face in reverence. 

 

“Is that a promise?” 

 

“If I make it one will you continue working?” 

 

“For you? Of course.” Moira looked up at this. For a long moment of pause, the two women stared at one another. The flame of the candle that rest by Angela suddenly leapt and twisted, casting strange shadows over the two of them as a hot flush overtook Angela’s face and she ducked her head. Struggling to keep her breathing level, she picked up her own reading material and pretended to actually be reading it. 

 

The soft exhale of laughter from Moira didn’t go unnoticed. Angela had half a mind to beg her not to tease. In the end she was interrupted as the candle light sudden sputtered and died. Wrapped in the darkness, Angela’s first instinct was fear. It quickly dissipated as she felt a cold hand slide onto her wrist. 

 

“Did you put that out?” No answer. Angela strained her eyes against the pitch of her surroundings and carefully laid a hand atop the one grasping hers. A quiet ‘shhh’ was the response. 

 

“...” There was a long lapse of silence that had Angela’s nerves jittering. She was tempted to try and reignite the candle; there was a chance she might accidentally set the books ablaze instead. Better safe than sorry. More cold flesh pressed to her own. Moira, or at least she really hoped it was Moira, had rested her cheek to Angela’s. Right before she went to open her mouth, the candle’s flame suddenly jumped back into existence. 

 

“You frightened me, you know.” 

 

“Stranger things can come for you in the Witching Hour.” Leaning back into Moira, Angela kept a firm grip on her hand. 

 

“Is there that much magic here?”

 

“Magic, no-- but memories…” 

 

“Are they from her?” Despite herself, Angela’s voice dropped. It felt odd to speak about the girl. She never knew when she might be listening. There must not be an awful lot to do but eavesdrop when you’re undead. Moira withdrew then and allowed Angela to turn and face her properly. 

 

“Perhaps. I doubt it’s just her; This place is very old.” A pause. “For a human establishment.” 

The quip made Angela’s lips quirk with a smile. Leave it to Moira. She stooped, casting a cursory glance around them to make sure they were alone. She stood then and let her body stretch on its own accord. 

 

“Memories. Aren’t they magic in their own way? Maybe it’s something we should look into.” Moira seemed to contemplate this. She shook her head; this prompted surprise in Angela. 

 

“Memories are stronger than any magic, Angela. It’s best to not disturb them.” 

 

“Hearing words of caution from you is strange.” 

 

“Perhaps then one could hope you’d take them to heart.” A shiver danced its way down Angela’s spine at this; she quickly reached out to take Moira’s hands in her own. She raised them and clutched them to her chest tightly. Moira inspected her with a great intensity, as if trying to read her thoughts. Briefly, Angela wondered if she could or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I crawl out of my grave, covered in dirt and mucus, and slam his down before promptly collapsing. 
> 
> If anybody is still following this, thank you! I'm just at a transitional point in my life that is... Currently tearing me limb from limb! Yeahaha! 
> 
> Good luck with the Winter Wonderland event and beat back the dark of the night as we await the return of the light! Cherished Yule times to all!


End file.
